They were glorious boys. Boys who had made themselves into men and boys who smiled frequently from accomplishment. They were perfect boys. And I thought that these boys could be perfect for me. So I gave them a cautious side glance. Noted their attire from head to toe without ordinary, dull conversation. Every demeanor was analyzed, every move a small truth. These clues I gathered and saved; faith was to be restored once more. I stepped closer until I was a breath away. I looked first at the lips, then at the brows. I touched marvelous hair. I ran my fingers down neatly buttoned shirts. I saw my perfume work its magic; a shiver that quickens heartbeat. I let my locks graze bare skin ever so gently⌠Ever so slightly. I took a finger and traced my own tinted lips, felt rough hands touch what hadnât been given in so long. Sighs became heavy and I was lost in a trance set by myself⌠for myself. Yet I had to ask. I know not why, but I had to ask. I whispered, barely audible. I prayed that a miracle would stop the words from falling out. âTell me beautiful things about your last, grand loveâ. It took them all by surprise, these perfect boys of mine. Some remained speechless, others made feeble attempts at redeeming their composure. But it was too late. I had already walked back into the crowd. I knew not of what I searched for. Perhaps the discovery of an exceptional mind with magnificent dreams. A fantasy which allowed me to love unconditionally and fabricate shamelessly. But each time I was defeated by reality. If it was once it can be again: A man with an imagination beyond my own















